Guilty Conscience

Besides the bunks, the cells each had a metal desk attached to the wall on the opposite side with a stool that seemed to be drilled into the floor under it. Further into the cell was a metal shelf about two feet higher than the desk. In every cell, these held nothing, except for Carl's. I stood in the opening of his cell, watching as he placed another pile of folded clothes on the shelf. His desk had two small piles of comic books. I couldn't believe it, it actually made me angry. His backpack was upended, laying on the floor, probably empty. I opened my mouth to speak but coughed instead. Carl glanced at me, checking I was all right until it stopped.

"Yer unpackin'?" My voice was really scratchy and quiet, I cleared it again.

He looked embarrassed, then shrugged. "Just bored, I guess."

Bullshit, it was obvious. His mood was different from the moment we got into the cell block. He wanted to stay here, he liked it. I'd not once seen the entirety of the contents in his bag emptied, even times we stayed somewhere for a few days. I didn't think he even unpacked at the farm.

There was always a rule, always be ready. Which meant don't dump out your shit in case we have to run. Carl was careful with this rule, purposely only taking one comic book out at a time among other things. There were even a few times, while we were relaxing in the room of some house, he noticed my bag unzipped, and without a word, he zipped it for me. We were always careful, always ready.

So what the hell is this about?

I would get it if it wasn't within the first twenty-four hours. If we'd been here a few days, maybe I'd unpack with him. Something about him so eager for this to work made me angry. I could see it, the scene running in the back of my head; Carl rushing around the room to grab what he could to outrun the Walkers, everyone would be taking too long because they weren't ready, someone's dead, and Carl is sad because he just wanted his own room back.

That last detail hit me hard. Carl had told me about his old home countless times, he missed his room a lot. The small luxury of shutting his bedroom door and tucking himself in bed without the fear of the next day.

"What if we leave?" I asked wearily, still sounding like shit.

"What if we don't?" I wished he was being smug, just so I had a real reason to be mad.

"You want . . . this?"

"Don't you?" Carl stopped moving to look at me. "I mean . . . Once we clean out the yard and burn the bodies we'll have a yard. We'll have our own farm. And when we clear it out we can go anywhere we want, everyone can have their own rooms."

I did want that, or something like that. But in a prison? I wasn't sure. I tried to imagine staying long-term, how Rick kept describing it. I wondered if Daryl would soon find another place, or a cell to sleep in. Would I stay with him? Or would I be expected to stay on my own like everyone else?

"Gonna lie down," My voice seemed to cut in and out, I was losing it from using it so much. Carl seemed disappointed as I left, but I wasn't sure what else to say about the whole thing.

After going up the stairs, I went to my cell at the end of the row. It wasn't exactly mine, I wasn't staying in it, but no one else was, though I had left my stuff in it. I sat on the bottom bunk, when Daryl took a mattress the night before he took it from another empty cell that was closer to his spot. I was a bit glad for it, I liked having some kind of spot to retreat to.

Picking my bag up, something stuck out of the zipper, it was the end of a straight branch. I was able to fit it in there just enough for only the end to poke out, no one had looked close enough to notice. Opening the bag, I took the branch out and placed it beside me, I paused my movements, the yellow fabric catching my eye.

I pulled out the plush duck from my bag, a vague smile glossed over my features as I remembered Daryl bringing it to me. Standing from the bunk, I went and sat the duck on the shelf. It's head lulled to the side from the lack of stuffing in its neck, staring at me with shiny plastic eyes. I looked around the cell and grimaced. Dried blood was splattered on the walls and floor, even in the daylight from the windows, it was dark and grey. The duck was the brightest and cleanest thing in it.

I retrieved Daryl's hunting knife that he hadn't taken back from me and sat on the floor in front of the bunk. I grabbed the branch and examined it closely, twirling it in front of my eyes. It was the straightest branch I could find, I wasn't sure if it would be fully suitable for a bolt, but it was possible. I'd gotten the idea when Daryl killed an owl a few days before. He'd made a mess of plucking it so I collected a few feathers without him knowing.

The bark on the branch was to think to carve with the knife, I would damage it too much, so I started peeling it off with my fingers. Under the bark there was still a lot of green, it had a starchy texture, and only a tiny bit would come off at a time. The small action became tedious after a while, but I still had a lot to do, it would take a long time. Something that was a bit difficult was choosing the right feathers, Daryl had made such a mess, walking as he plucked, it was hard to tell which had come from the same wing. I remembered when Daddy taught me about making them, that to make feather came from the same wing. Something about controlling the direction.

I tried to recall anything about different kinds of arrows and bolts, if this would even work for a crossbow. I would just have to make it and find out. After peeling all the bark off, I grabbed the knife and began to sharpen the end. My movements Froze as I remembered the next step, after carving I would still need to find some kind of tip.

You also need shit to fasten the tip and feathers, dummy.

Shit.

How did I forget all that?

Somehow, trying to find something to do had made me only think about half the job. When teaching me how to make different things, one of Daddy's rules was always: use what you have.

I went through my bag, searching for options. Picking up one of the stray crayons rolling around inside, I wondered if I could melt the wax. Might be too thick, too heavy. I sighed in irritation as my ear shot pain down my neck. I finally had a task to focus on but it didn't matter, I didn't have everything I needed and nothing I had could help. Daddy used to use some kind of sap for glue, from a pine tree. But we were locked up in a prison, with two rows of fences.

You'd probably just fuck it up anyway. Quit before Daryl finds out how stupid you are.

I kept looking through my bag, imagining how angry Daddy would be if I couldn't make one simple thing. Then, none of it mattered because that was when the screaming started.

I could tell it was Rick, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. I heard the yelling and the hurried footsteps, I ran out of my cell and leaned over the railing. Carl was running to the door with the keys.

"Open the door!" Rick yelled, much closer than before, "It's Hershel!"

I turned and ran, confused by the situation, I took my gun out from under the pillow where I slept before heading down to the first floor. Carl unlocked the door, letting the bunch of them run in, pushing a cart first. Hershel was laid on the rolling cart, unmoving, a mess of blood where his leg was supposed to be. I paused in the middle of the staircase, unable to get a good look before he was wheeled into a closeby cell.

The panic made the air in the room feel heavy, it was hard to breathe in. Everyone was either yelling or crying.

"Go go go go! In there!"

"He got bit!"

I went over to Carl as he glanced at me with wide-set eyes while trying to get closer, attempting to see over everyone else in the cell. I stood a few feet away, watching and listening to the panic.

"Oh, God."

"Daddy!"

"Oh! He's bleeding out!"

"We need bandages!"

"We're out!"

"Well, get more! Anything!"

"Carl, go get the towels from the back, right next to my bed."

So much yelling, so much panic, I couldn't keep track of who was talking. Guillermo puked just outside the cell.

Carl ran past me, going up the stairs. Lori pushed Beth out of the cell, she was sobbing and shaking.

"Is he gonna die?" She sobbed into Lori's arms, which were coated in blood.

"He's gonna be okay." Lori whispered, hugging while stroking her back. "I'm going to help Sasha, okay? Just give us some space."

Liar. We'd been inside for a day, and someone was already dying.

Daryl wasn't around, that fact made my stomach drop. I quickly spun around, making sure I didn't miss him. He wasn't in the cell or anywhere else. I went to the barred door that led out of the cell block, I could see the wings from Daryl's vest.

I pushed open the door with a bit of force while still holding my gun, in all the panic no one locked it. Daryl had his leg propped up on one of those weird metal tables with the bench attached, his crossbow aimed at the dark doorway several feet away.

"Daryl?" I had no idea what was going on. He got bit, kept bouncing around in my head. How bad was the bite, where was his leg, what happened? I knew a lot of these questions wouldn't be answered during the panic, not to one of the kids. Daryl would usually keep me updated. What's he doing?

He turned to me, lowering the crossbow, "what're ya doin? Get back in there."

"What-" Before I could ask, movement from the doorway caught my attention. I lifted and aimed my gun right away before gasping. I'd quickly assume they were Walkers, but they didn't run after us and snarl, they just stood there.

"-That's far enough," Daryl stopped the five figures, aiming the crossbow back up.

"Cell block C," one of them said, his hair was long and he was wearing a white shirt. "Cell four, that's mine, gringo."

Gringo, I'd heard Guillermo use that word a few times. I blinked hard, it was hard to believe I was seeing not one, but five people, living people. We hadn't seen anyone since we were attacked in Carnesville, sometimes it was hard to imagine there was anyone else in the world.

"Today's your lucky day, fellas. You've been pardoned by the state of Georgia, you're free to go," Daryl told them.

The man with the long hair saw me then, the eye contact made me want to step back, but I held my ground. Seeing my gun, he pulled a small revolver out of his waistband, pointing it right at me.

Daryl quickly moved, stepping into his line of sight to block me, "put it down."

"What you got going on in there?" The man asked.

"Ain't none of your concern."

I stepped a bit to the side, trying to see them from behind Daryl.

The man shook his head angrily, "don't be telling me what's my concern."

"Chill, man." One of the other men spoke, his skin was dark and he was very wide and tall. "Dude's leg is messed up. Will you put the gun down?"

Dark Hair jerked the gun up, staring at me again, "something fucked up is going on. Her first."

Oh fuck that, I quickly raised my opposite hand, pulling the top of the gun back to load a bullet in the chamber.

Dark Hair's eyes went into a rage, "you fucking-"

"-Hey! Get back, back, now!" Daryl warned.

"Stop! It's a kid!" The rest of them were starting to freak out.

"What the hell is a kid doing here?"

"Damn it," Daryl exclaimed, looking at me briefly, "get inside."

"You can't be bringin' little girls in here, man." Another one of the tall men was shaking his head, his head was bald and also had very dark skin. "You're scarin' her, put it down."

"Maybe we'll just be going now?" the man with a large mustache said. I didn't look closer at him, focusing on the one with the gun, but I saw enough of him to think he looked stupid.

"We're free now!" The Tall One exclaimed, "Why are we still here?"

"Man's got a point," Daryl growled.

"Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady," The second tallest man stood beside Dark Hair, staring him down. He murmured something, I thought he was still trying to convince him to put the gun down.

"Group of civilians breaking into a prison you've got no business being in, got me thinking there ain't no place for us to go!" Dark Hair glared.

"Why don't you go find out?" Daryl coaxed

Dark hair stepped closer then, causing Daryl to do the same. "Hey, we ain't leaving!"

I heard footsteps behind me right before Rick was at my side, "You're not coming in either."

"There ain't nothing for ya, why don't ya head back to yer own sandbox?"

Sandbox? My eyes briefly went to Daryl, I didn't understand that one.

"Everyone, relax, there's no need for this. Toby, I need you to go with Carl."

I ignored Rick, glaring at Dark Hair, I felt my insides quiver slightly with anxiety. I kept my face as blank as I possibly could, be brave, be blank. The gun was making it hard to act, but having Daryl's weapon at my side made it easier.

"Listen to him, get in there," Daryl told me.

I felt my expression breakthrough slightly, is he serious? There's a gun on me, I'm not moving!

"Let us handle this, the others need help with Hershel," Rick held a hand in front of me. I knew he was resisting the urge to push me back. I felt something inside me shiver, my stomach clenching with that echoing shake of anger, wanting to explode.

"He has a gun!" I exclaimed, my voice faltering with rising anxiety and anger.

"So do you," Rick told me calmly.

"That's the problem?" I finally looked at him then, it was impossible for me to stay blank. I was too angry, scared, annoyed, I wasn't even sure what I was. I felt all my emotions circling around me like a tornado.

"Kid, get out now!" Daryl was getting angry, which made me swallow nervously. But at the same time, it got to me, what made his anger more important than mine? Why am I the problem right now? Why doesn't Rick have his gun out on these assholes?

I felt my hand start to shake, I held it as steady as I could, hoping no one noticed. My brain was going into overdrive, Rick talking to me, Rick standing so close to me, Daryl siding with Rick like an asshole, random bunch of strangers that may try to kill us, random stranger with a gun, what if there are more guns?

"Enough!" the second tallest ripped the gun away, "That's a little girl, you're gonna shoot a little girl? Messed up . . ."

I met the eyes of the man who held the gun, there was a calmness in them that helped me relax. I lowered my own gun and turned away, I'd had enough of the situation and knew Daryl was close to yelling at me. I couldn't be around Rick much longer before I exploded. Carl opened the door for me and I quickly walked in, I didn't stop at the crowded cell where Hershel was dying, I rushed up the stairs and into the nearest cell I was sure no one had chosen.

My muscles felt tense, I squeezed both my hands into fists, trying to keep down whatever was trying to get out. I felt like I was going to explode. I kept pushing the invisible force deeper and deeper down, but I wasn't even sure what I was fighting.

My breathing was erratic and shallow, causing me to cough, which in turn made it more difficult to control. I was in the cell, placing my fists and forehead onto the cold cement wall, trying to compose myself.

What's wrong with me? Stop, stop it now! Whatever it is just stop!

I'm trying!

I wanted to scream, to cry, to punch the wall as if it would cure horrible, tense pressure trying to escape. I could feel myself shivering, I knew it was cold, but it felt so hot, I was boiling. I wanted to rip my sweater off but I was afraid if I moved I would actually rip my sweater off. All my thoughts were dancing around in my head, clusters of countless fears and knowledge, it all meant nothing. Hershel dying, rick, the gun, new people, Walkers, death, Carol.

I heard my name being uttered behind me, but I didn't turn. It was Carl, causing my stomach to clench of the possibility of him getting his mom.

I tried to tell him, go away, but I was sure only an unintelligible groan came out. I kept forcing myself to blink because my eyes were burning, I thought it would help, but it only helped tears escape.

Is this what dying feels like? We're all going to die. What are we doing here? We're going to die here. I was coughing, sobbing, and struggling to breathe altogether, it didn't make any sense.

Tightness, around my stomach, squeezing. It took me a moment too long to realize arms were around me, small skinny ones. I put my hands over him, ready to push away, but I only squeezed back. I couldn't get myself to push him away. I began to really cry then, a full-on, embarrassing, gross mess. I couldn't tell how much time passed, but it seemed all that raw emotion had slowly ebbed out of me. The shaking had subsided and I could breathe somewhat normally.

"Sorry . . ." I said very quietly. We were both on the floor, he was still hugging me. I pulled myself slowly out of his grasp, avoiding his eyes.

"It's okay, do you want water?" He asked as I started coughing.

I shook my head, clearing my throat, "no. I don't . . . don't know what happened. That was stupid."

"I get sad too, it's okay to get upset."

That wasn't just sad, I thought, that was everything.

"After dad brought Hershel in, we heard Daryl and those people. He said they were prisoners, they survived here. Did you talk to them too?"

I shook my head again. Prisoners? I remembered the dark blue jumpsuits they were wearing.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," I answered. "He gonna die?"

Carl's eyebrows furrowed and I knew I'd asked the wrong question, but he answered before I could try again, "maybe. They don't seem sure, but I think he's still bleeding. Mom said they're going to do their best and fix him. But they said that about Sophia . . . and Carol."

As if I wasn't having a hard enough time thinking about Carol.

"We need stuff from the infirmary, dad's was supposed to be looking for it but he went with those prisoners."

"Where?"

"Outside, to show them all the Walkers I think."

I looked up at him, silently telling him to explain.

"I heard them talking after you left . . . they . . . don't know what's going on, or what happened to everybody. They don't know about the Walkers or any of it."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, it was hard to imagine. How could you just not know? How did they miss out? I felt my stomach clench and rumble, I winced and put my hand to it. It seemed like my appetite was starting to come back, and I wasn't sure how I should feel about that. It didn't matter, there wasn't any food. Our attention was turned to Guillermo, who stood in the doorway of the cell.

"Your mother is searching for you, Niño."

Carl stood, then looked at me, "will you come too?"

I considered for a moment, but there was something about how he asked, I didn't want to say no. Carl offered a hand and helped me up. I felt Guillermo's eyes on me as we went down the stairs but ignored him, I preferred pretending he didn't exist. Before he ratted out Shane, which got him killed, I didn't mind his presence, but that was before. The last little while my negative feelings toward him felt amplified, all of the reminders from being at the farm were getting to me.

Sasha was the one taking care of Hershel the most with Lori at her side. Maggie and Beth were holding each other, watching closely, Glenn lingered outside the cell, with Jimmy. T-Dog, Tyreese, Daryl, and Rick were gone. Carl went into the cell, asking questions. I didn't hear what he was saying, I stayed outside, only just barely getting a glimpse of the bloody mess where Hershel's leg used to be.

A wave of nausea hit me, so I looked away. I wouldn't go any closer, I wouldn't watch this happen again. I promised myself not to get any closer.

I stretched my jaw, I wasn't sure why, some kind of instinct had me do it automatically. It caused my bad ear to make an odd click sound, but it felt a little better afterward as if some pressure had been relieved. I glanced at the door to the cell block, it was starting to hurt worse, I needed Daryl to come back with the Advil. I wondered if he could have left it with someone before leaving.

I felt guilty then, it was horrible of me to think about getting painkillers when Hershel had lost his leg. It would be worse of me to ask someone. I would have to suffer in silence.

"He may survive," Guillermo said. I glanced at him in surprise, I hadn't noticed he was still close by.

"You're stupid," I said, it was all I could think of.

"I won't argue," he replied, that annoyed me, I wanted him to argue. "You have no hope for him?"

What kind of question is that? "His leg is gone."

"Plenty of people have lost their legs in the past, they could live just as well as the rest. He is a strong man, he has much to come back too."

Does he mean the family? I walked away, trying to put some distance between us. Luckily, he didn't follow.

I waited outside the cell, unsure if Carl would come out, but I had nothing else to do and nowhere to go. I put a hand to my ear, it was starting to hurt again. I snapped my fingers close to the ear, the sound was muffled and seemed far away, I did it on the other side, it sounded normal. I sighed in frustration, I'd never had this type of problem before, I wanted my ear to go back to normal.

When Carl finally came out, he updated me on Hershel. "He's still bleeding, they're trying to get it to stop. Mom said it slowed down. But they need medicine, dad supposed to be looking for the infirmary soon."

I doubted that, I opened my mouth to say as much but was rudely interrupted.

"Open up!" I heard Rick call.

Carl rushed over with the keys to unlock the door. I glared at Rick before realizing if he was back, so was Daryl.

"Food's here!" T-Dog called out, walking in after Rick.

"What you got?" Carl asked excitedly.

"Canned beef, canned corn, canned cans," T-Dog strode past holding two boxes of, well I guessed, cans.

Rick was close behind him, holding two sacks of something, I wasn't sure what. "Any change?" He asked, pausing his movements for a moment. I looked away and distracted myself with Lori's answer, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know whether it was good or bad, because it could change too quickly.

I walked to Carl who had just closed and locked the door, I didn't see Daryl.

"It's just them I guess," Carl offered the information without me asking. I gave him a nod, thanking him silently. "Dad?"

I followed Carl as he approached his dad, who was still carrying the two sacks as he stood with Lori. I glanced at Glenn, who stood beside Lori, he met my eyes, only to look away. His face was flushed and tired, while his frown went deep as if almost engraved in his face forever.

"Where's Daryl and Tyreese?" Carl asked. I felt my eyebrows twitch, threatening to expose any emotion, I was surprised. I knew Carl was asking only for my benefit.

"They're still with the pris—the survivors," I would've laughed at Rick for stumbling over his words, but what he said annoyed me. Before I could ask, Carl beat me to it.

"Why aren't they here?"

"I don't trust those men, I didn't want them left alone. We're dropping off the food and we're going to help them clear out a cell block."

"Can't that wait?" Glenn blurted. "We need to get to that infirmary."

"We can't wander around with those men, and they won't leave. We have to give them a place to stay out of our way, we'll be divided and never have to have contact with them," Rick explained impatiently.

I crossed my arms and squeezed my abdomen, an odd attempt to give myself comfort and look angry. Since we'd got to the prison Daryl was being dragged around, and there he was stuck with strangers and probably going to be gone for hours. And when that was done he'd be gone longer looking for the infirmary. I understood it, but somehow I couldn't get rid of the frustration. I had to wonder if it was only because Rick was involved, that could explain it. I pushed the thought away, not wanting to believe my anger at Rick was unwarranted, I didn't have the patience to analyze or feel guilty for him.

After quietly staring at the cell Hershel lay in, Rick turned abruptly, nodding at his hip, "take my cuffs and put them on him. I'm not taking any chances."

Glenn hesitated, but reluctantly unhooked the metal handcuffs from Rick's belt. I watched them intently, a memory nudging itself forward.

Then, as I sometimes did, I spoke without thinking. "Those the ones ya used on Merle?"

Oh shit, I mentally cursed, scolding myself. As always, I'd said something weird, and had everyone's attention.

I could see the tension in Glenn's back as I said it, before he slowly turned to stare at me. Rick's lips parted in surprise, and possibly shame. He seemed to be trying to grasp at words, but nothing would come out. Lori was tightlipped, darting her eyes between the men as if trying to figure out who should respond if anyone.

Oh shit, I thought again, though for an entirely different reason. I met Rick's eyes, staring back at him as he did with me. Usually, after I said something stupid I felt embarrassed and stupid, but I couldn't help but relish in the awkward horror I'd just caused.

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

T-Dog appeared beside Rick, relieving him of the sacks. "Filter, kid," he gave me a disapproving look before turning away, "filter."

I never got my answer.

They took their time recovering from a few simple words. Glenn went into the cell to handcuff Hershel. Rick just slowly turned away without a destination, he took a few steps to stand under the stairs, facing away from me. Lori sighed and followed him, I heard her ask something about the prisoners before their voices lowered into whispers.

"I'll help T-Dog and get us something to eat, okay?" Carl said. I nodded at him, a little surprised he hadn't brought up what just happened.

I glanced from Hershel's cell to Rick and Lori, feeling awkward and out of place. We were going to be stuck here for a while until they found the infirmary and dealt with the prisoners. I thought about laying back down because of my ear but I really didn't want to. As much as it helped a bit, I was so sick of laying around and sleeping. Plus, after what happened with Hershel I thought I should be ready to quickly get away if need be.

Sighing at myself, I walked over and took a seat at the bottom of the stairs. Just as I did, I realized I could just barely hear Lori and Rick talking. Part of me didn't care what they were talking about, the other part of me had already turned my head to the side, attempting to use the better ear in their direction.

"Did you . . . Before everything was so chaotic I didn't get to ask-"

"-Yes." Rick answered. "I wasn't really thinking, before I knew it I had the axe in my hand."

"You did the right thing."

"You think so? How could you know that? It feels like I'm torturing his family, waiting for the inevitable."

"You gave it a chance, you had to, for his family."

"We've already been through this once. We know the outcome."

I swallowed nervously at that, I knew who they were talking about.

"You did it right away? The amputation?"

"Yes. But I'm not sure that matters."

"Exactly, you're not sure. If you really had no hope you never would have done this. There was . . . different circumstances with Carol. It's possible it could work, we just waited too long."

I stood and hurried up the stairs at that, not wanting to hear anymore. My stomach felt like it was in knots.

He won't make it because Carol didn't.

It's the same thing.

Is it?

Hershel's going to turn, just like she was supposed to.

Supposed to.

I found myself in the cell I'd left my things in, frozen in place. Carol was supposed to turn, but she didn't, she didn't turn because Shane killed her.

Wait, does that really mean she was going to turn?

What if it was going to work?

Not once had it ever crossed my mind, I was so caught up with the guilt and everything else, I didn't think about it actually working. That meant that all the negativity that I felt about Hershel, that everyone felt about Hershel, was my fault. They could say he would be fine as much as they wanted, but no one believed it. Because we'd gone through this before. Carol was killed before we could know the outcome, and no one knew but me.

"Here," I jumped and turned to Carl, he was holding a can in each hand. "You . . . are you okay?"

"Fine," I snapped. Not fine, I wanted to scream.

Carl watched me suspiciously for another moment before walking to the cot to sit. I sat beside him, trying to push thoughts of Carol away.

I was ready to be disappointed by the cold food, we hadn't had a chance to find a good way to cook, and no one cared much with Hershel's condition. I found myself pleasantly surprised when I saw the corn.

"They had corn?" I rasped before coughing to clear my throat.

"Yeah, a lot of meat and beans and other stuff too. I know you like corn."

I took the can, he'd already opened it and had a plastic spoon. I gave him a questioning glance, we'd barely had much of a selection of food, how would he know?

"If we have it, you always get it. I saw you trade with Sasha once."

I looked away from him, feeling embarrassed. Was I supposed to be weirded out? I was too hungry to care and happy I wasn't eating beans. As we ate in silence, thoughts of Carol danced in my head. The guilt was getting worse, I knew I would have to do something, the only thing there was to do was talk. I considered Carl but quickly dismissed it, I needed Daryl, he was the only one.

I wasn't even sure what I was going to say if anything at all. I wanted to ignore the bad thoughts and just let it all go. The last two days had made it clear it wasn't going to work.

"Thank you," I said to Carl. He smiled at me and I forced a small one back. I had to enjoy the moment, who knew how much he'd hate me later.

So that's that. Finally out with this chapter. I'm really sorry about how long it took and if it was a huge disappointment. I feel like it is. Things have been hard lately, with the lockdown and everything going on. I just can't seem to get myself together. I kept putting this chapter off because I wasn't sure how it was, I might just feel that it's shitty, because it's just how I feel about everything lately.

Toby had a little panic attack this chapter, I hope I executed it right. I have a lot of experiences with those but it was much harder to describe than I thought.

I hope I didn't lose any of you and that I provided a bit of entertainment.

I also want you all to know you can message me if you want to talk about anything. I've had a few messages over the past few weeks, some wanting to talk the story, some about other fanfiction, and some just needed to rant about the difficult times they're having.

I can relate and don't mind hearing from anyone, sometimes even a short talk can be helpful.

Stay safe and healthy